


In The End

by DeiStarr



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, Homosexuality, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Male Slash, Male-Female Friendship, Oral Sex, POV Male Character, Rimming, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-16 17:25:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1355653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeiStarr/pseuds/DeiStarr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry learns how to live while dying, with Draco's help. And however hard he fights his attraction to Draco, he eventually learns how to love from him, too. Harry/Draco slash. Boy love. Gay romance. Maybe tragedy; potential major character death. IF it occurs there WILL be an alternate ending. Severitus. MPreg.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Title:**  In The End

 **Chapter:** Prologue

 **Pairings:** Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione, others TBD

 **Rating:** NC-17

 **Warnings:**  Violence, Gay Sex, and Potential Major Character Death. Oh, and MPreg. 

 **Disclaimer:**  I don't own the Harry Potter universe or any of the characters. I like to do things with them that would probably make Jo blush.

 **Summary:**  Harry learns how to live while dying, with Draco's help. And however hard he fights his attraction to Draco, he eventually learns how to love from him, too.

 **A/N:** I haven't decided how to end this story yet. I don't know if it will be a tragedy, where Harry dies, or one where Harry is cured. IF he dies, I WILL write an alternate ending. Because I've promised myself never to write a story without a happy ending!

Also, this story will be updated infrequently. I have too many stories on the go atm, so I'm going to continue focusing on my older MC's for the most part, and only give my complete attention to this one once one or two of the others have been completed.

* * *

**In The End**

* * *

****

* * *

 

**Prologue**

 

* * *

_I tried so hard_   
_And got so far_   
_But in the end_   
_It doesn't even matter_   
_I had to fall_   
_To lose it all_   
_But in the end_   
_It doesn't even matter_

_In The End – Linkin Park_

* * *

Harry spent the summer after fifth year in a deep depression; angry and bitter, filled with guilt and self-loathing. He read his textbooks obsessively until he had nearly memorised them.

He owl-ordered several texts on Occlumency from  _Florish and Blotts_ , and studied until his mind was closed up tighter than a steel drum. It was a relief not to have to deal with the dreams, or Voldemort's emotions pouring through their link.

He was a very different person at the end of the summer.

His sixth year was difficult at best.

He returned to Hogwarts subdued; depressed and angry. He withdrew from everyone, afraid to be close to anyone in case Voldemort decided to use them against him the way he had with Sirius.

He informed Professor Dumbledore after the Welcoming Feast that he wanted nothing to do with him anymore.

"Unless it pertains to school, sir, I have no interest in speaking to you."

Professor Dumbledore tried many different times and different ways to change his mind, to no avail. He kept his head down, kept to himself, and outstripped Hermione in school. Apparently memorising the textbooks could pay off – who knew?

He used his invisibility cloak every night to sneak into the restricted section and read until the words blurred together on the page. He researched Dark Magic, searching for something that might help him defeat Voldemort.

He learned nasty and illegal curses that he would practice in the Shrieking Shack, away from prying eyes and the Hogwarts wards that would alert Dumbledore if any Dark Magic was performed in the school.

If he met a Death Eater again, he could give them a taste of their own medicine. There was no way he'd attempt to disarm or disable them with harmless spells like  _Stupefy_.

It wasn't until Dumbledore approached Harry with three new offers that he decided to accept, and go back under the old man's guidance. He kept his mind tightly closed around the Headmaster, however, as he had no intention of letting the man know about his forays into the world of Dark Magic.

The offers Dumbledore made him were membership in the Order, complete disclosure, and regular training to equip him to fight Death Eaters on more even ground. His teachers were Remus, Snape, Moody, and Dumbledore himself.

One would think, with his classes, his training, and his extracurricular activities, that he would have no time for anything else. Yet for some reason he had become obsessed with Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy had returned to sixth year as quiet and withdrawn as Harry himself. His father was in Azkaban, his family disgraced, and his mother had filed for a divorce. The last was a rumour floating around the school, based on articles in the Prophet; but since Malfoy never said anything to refute them there seemed to be some truth to them.

Malfoy, the boy who had always boasted about his father constantly, never breathed a word about him now.

Perhaps the most telling indication of the truth of those rumours was the induction of Narcissa Malfoy as an Order member. She swore that she and her son were committed to fighting on the right side, that she'd finally managed to bar her insane sister – along with any other Death Eaters – from the Manor, and she eagerly began the process of reuniting with her other, estranged sister.

Harry watched him every chance he got. He told himself it was because he needed to keep an eye on the Slytherin, to determine whether he was following in his father's footsteps or not; but that didn't explain why he kept  _noticing_  things about him. Irrelevant things, like how his hair fell about his face now that he'd stopped gelling it back, or how the lines of his face weren't so much pointy as aristocratic, or just how  _grey_  his eyes were. How fit he was.

And Harry most certainly never had erotic dreams that just might have featured a tall, fit blond with grey eyes. After all, Harry wasn't even gay.

Harry had always hated the attention of the public; now, between the desperate attempts by various publications to interview him, the Ministry – which was no longer headed by Fudge, but by a former Auror named Rufus Scrimgeour – hounding him to endorse them to increase the faith of the public in them, and the constant stream of letters from the public, Harry began daydreaming about becoming a hermit.

Voldemort kept busy that year; killings increased and people were terrified. Dark Marks appeared in the sky all over as muggles, wizards, and witches alike were brutally murdered.

Harry threw himself into his studies with fervor. He learned as much as he could for as long as he could, and by the end of his sixth year could best or at least match all of his teachers. It was as if he'd had an untapped reservoir of power within himself that he'd never been able – or perhaps motivated enough – to access before.

When he returned to the Dursley's the summer before his seventh year, he was determined to end things, once and for all. With nothing else to do with his time but complete the mindless tasks the Dursleys set him, his mind was constantly whirring, plotting.

He needed a way to defeat Voldemort for good. But with all the Dark and Light Magic he'd been taught, there was no sure way to guarantee he could complete the task.

Except one.

In a dusty, hidden book in the furthest section of the Restricted Section, heavily warded with curses, he'd discovered a thin book. It discussed a theoretical spell that could destroy all life within a certain radius of its casting. It remained theoretical only because no one was suicidal enough to attempt it, as it destroyed the caster.

Within the boundaries of its casting, nothing could survive.

Harry had less regard for his life than he'd once had, and he figured that killing Voldemort was something worth dying for.

So it was that Harry came up with a plan.

The Order had plans to move him, as the protection of the Blood Wards on the Dursleys house would fall when he turned seventeen. They spirited away the Dursleys a week prior, hiding them away where they'd be safe.

Harry was to be moved the day before his birthday.

The same night as the Dursleys left, Harry released Hedwig, telling her to fly to Hogwarts and stay there. Then he took his wand, a pack filled with food and water bottles, and slipped out of the house under his invisibility cloak. He ran as fast and as far as he could before he was finally forced to stop and rest.

He curled up under a bush and slept under the cloak.

He continued travelling invisible until he reached London. He turned seventeen the day before he reached the city. Having given a lot of thought to the fastest way to be caught by Death Eaters, he lit upon the plan to visit Knockturn Alley.

He entered Diagon Alley invisible, and made his way to Knockturn. It was in an alley beside Borgin and Burkes that he slid off the cloak; stuffing it into his now-empty pack and stepping back out into Knockturn. He brushed the hair off his forehead and walked through the street, head held high, scar clearly displayed.

He might as well have been wearing a neon sign.

Sure enough, Death Eaters arrived to capture him. He was ready.

He put up a good fight. He may have wanted to be captured, but he had no intention of making it easy for them and wanted to take as many of them down as possible beforehand.

They weren't expecting him to be so skilled. They certainly weren't expecting him to use Dark Magic.

Killing them was much easier than Harry had thought it would be. He felt almost detached; clinical as he took life after life.

He killed five, wounded seven badly enough that they were down and helpless, but finally they managed to stun him.

He woke up bound and silenced in a dungeon somewhere. The Death Eater who  _Enervated_  him sneered as he levitated Harry along through the corridors until they reached a wide stone chamber, swarming with Death Eaters in full regalia. Seated on a high stone throne at the head of the room was Voldemort.

"Harry Potter," he hissed, as Harry was dropped unceremoniously in the center of the room, in the center of the circle of Death Eaters.

"The Boy-Who-Lived." Voldemort sneered, and Harry thought how odd it looked without a nose. The thought that Malfoy's sneer was infinitely more attractive skittered across his brain almost too fast for him to register it.

"I have solved the problem of our wands," continued Voldemort, smiling cruelly. "I have a new wand; one that has bonded to me exceedingly well, and will not interact with yours the same way."

He rose and prowled towards Harry. "Today, I will finish you. Release him, and give him his wand!"

Harry found himself free and able to speak again. He caught the wand that was tossed in his direction with deft seeker skills. He rolled it between his fingers, meeting Voldemort's stare coolly.

"Hello, Tom," he said, smirking a little. "Still haven't realised who's the better wizard?"

Voldemort growled, and raised his wand. Harry cast a special, Dark shield charm that would encompass his body and follow him as he moved. He dodged and rolled away as Voldemort shot a Killing Curse at him.

He fired off several Dark spells at the other wizard, none of which would stop him, but were sufficient to incapacitate him for a few precious minutes. They made contact only because Voldemort was thrown off-balance by his use of Dark Arts.

As soon as Voldemort was occupied, he ran for the one place in the room that provided shelter – the throne. He ducked behind it and began chanting, moving his wand in the intricate and precise patterns he needed to perform the spell.

Just as Voldmort blasted the chair out of the way, he finished the spell.

A blaze of white light shot from his magical core, bursting from every pore of his body, shooting out in a wide circle that encompassed the entire room, moving outside. Every person it touched dropped.

Harry knew from the research that not even a blade of grass would survive.

Voldemort gasped, and fell to his knees, choking. His face went slack and he dropped to the ground where he lay still.

That was the last thing Harry saw before he too succumbed, and his world went black.

* * *

When Harry woke in St. Mungo's, he was confused.  _I'm supposed to be dead._ He sat up and looked around.

The door opened a couple of moments later, and a Healer dressed in lime-green robes entered. "Mr. Potter," he said, with a respectful nod that Harry returned. "My name is Healer Morgan."

"Hello," he said a trifle awkwardly. "Er, can you tell me why I'm here?"

The Healer blinked, then smiled. "You defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," he said. "There was a powerful burst of Dark Magic so strong that the Ministry was aware of it, and sent a team of Aurors out to investigate. They found you in a house on one of the old Black properties, in the basement. You were lying unconscious, surrounded by dead Death Eaters. You-Know-Who was lying there as well, quite dead."

He shook his head. "The papers have been having a field day all week, and there are still people dancing in the streets. Everyone wants to know how you did it."

Harry looked away. The spell would be catastrophic in the wrong hands. He couldn't afford to let anyone know. "I can't say." He turned back to the Healer. "I have to say I'm surprised, though. I wasn't meant to survive that."

The Healer looked momentarily shocked. A flash of sadness crossed his features before he schooled them into a more neutral expression. "I'm afraid that's a matter of opinion, Mr. Potter."

Harry tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

The Healer grimaced. "You've suffered an intense exposure to radiation, Mr. Potter." He cleared his throat. "We've done the best we can, but you have severe radiation poisoning."

Harry nodded slowly, not understanding.

"We've slowed it down, and if you follow our potion regimen every day, and come in for regular checkups, you'll have a year left; maybe two. But that's the most we can do for you." The Healer looked so apologetic that Harry felt bad for the man.

He nodded. He wasn't sure what to say. Being told that you're dying should perhaps be more shocking, but he still hadn't adjusted to the fact that he was still  _alive_ , so it was less disconcerting than it ought to have been.

"I'm afraid it will be quite painful, towards the end." Healer Morgan winced.

"I'm not afraid of pain," Harry answered.

A sudden thought struck him. If his friends and the Order members had been told, he would be coddled and fretted over until he looked forward to dying. The thought made him so weary.

"Have you told anyone else about this?"

The Healer shook his head. "Since you're of age, you no longer have a legal guardian. Since you have no family, there was no one we could inform of your condition without your consent without violating our Oath."

Harry smiled weakly. "Good." He shuddered. "Don't tell anyone. I don't want the hassle yet."

The Healer raised his eyebrows, but nodded. "Are you ready for visitors? You have quite a few."

Harry shook his head. "I need to be alone with my thought for a while, first."

The Healer nodded sympathetically. "I understand. Just let me know if you need anything or decide you want to let them in."

Harry thanked him, then sank back onto the pillows as the man left. He stared at the ceiling.

_I'm dying. I have a year left; maybe two._

Then,  _What on earth am I going to do for a year?_


	2. Darkness Rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry reflects on last Christmas, and on the journal he discovered in the Restricted Section at Hogwarts.

**Chapter One:**  Darkness Rising

 **Disclaimer:**  J. created the Harry Potter universe. That said, there are a number of things I want to change about it. Starting with the soulmates, Harry and Draco, being kept apart for her own fiendish amusement. I am attempting to rectify that. I know better than to try and make any money off of it. (Who would pay me, anyway?)

 **Warnings:**  Dark!Harry in this chapter, a little bit.

 **A/N:**  While this story will normally be updated less frequently than my others, I've been in a depression lately, and it was simply easier to write a dark story than one that I know will end happily. While I still want this one to have a happy ending, the uncertainty makes it an easier candidate.

* * *

_In the end_   
_As we fade into the night_   
_Who will tell the story of your life?_   
_And who will remember your last goodbye?_   
_Cause it's the end and I'm not afraid_   
_I'm not afraid to die._

_In The End – Black Veiled Brides_

* * *

_~ Flashback ~ December 22nd, 1996 ~_

* * *

 

"Harry mate, come on; you've been reading since you got here – it's time to take a break! You're worse than Hermione was before OWLs! Let's play a game of chess!"

Harry scowled at the glamoured book he was reading. He didn't know what made him angrier – that Ron refused to leave him alone despite the fact that he'd made it very clear he wanted to be left in peace, the interruption when he was in the middle of an important section of the book, or the unintentional reminder of the day that Sirius had died. Even the fact that part of him wished he could just put the books away and enjoy spending time with his friend over Christmas hols made him angry. Angry because he was trying to protect Ron by distancing himself from the redhead and he was making it so hard, and angry because he knew it was selfish to want to be close to his friend anyway, and selfish to long for the days when he goofed around rather than focused on his responsibilities.

He gripped the pages of the tome tighter and tried to ignore his first friend. It was for the greater good.

"Harry, I hate to say it, but I think that Ron's right. I know you're upset about Sirius, but you can't close yourself off like this. It isn't healthy."

Harry gritted his teeth. How  _dare_ Hermione mention Sirius to him?

"What the  _hell_  is he doing here?"

Harry closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, refusing to look up or acknowledge that he heard Ron in any way.

Things were better this way. For everyone.

"In case you've forgotten, Weasel, my mother joined the Order. There's a meeting today – or were your feeble mental faculties incapable of processing all that information?"

The sneering tone that had been conspicuously absent all term at Hogwarts brought Harry's blood to a slow boil. Dealing with Ron was bad enough. He didn't need Draco bloody Malfoy making his headache worse.

"Listen, Ferret; this is Harry's house, and he doesn't want you here! You'd better get out before I curse you out if you know what's good for you!"

"This is the Ancient and Noble House of Black, Weasel, and I  _am_  a Black! If anything, it's  _you_  who doesn't belong here!"

"Shut up!"

Harry slapped his book closed with a bang and stared at the two boys with livid green eyes. He fixed them on the blond first, who was lounging against the doorframe of the studying with a look of boredom on his face, though he started blinking under the force of Harry's glare.

"This may be the Ancient and Noble House of Black, Malfoy, but it is  _my_  house, and if you can't be civil while you're here I'll throw you out!"

Harry swung around to face Ron, who looked smug and self-satisfied. " _You!_ " Ron stumbled back and gaped at him. "Malfoy 's mum is in the Order now; I was part of the decision to accept her and offer them protection, and therefore, they have my permission to be here. If you can't accept that, then maybe  _you_  should leave!" The look of pure shock and hurt on Ron's face tore at something in Harry, but he shoved it away and continued.

"It's bad enough that you're always hovering, bugging me when I'm trying to learn things I  _need_  to know to win this war, but now you have to start a stupid fight in front of me? If I didn't know any better, Ron; I'd think you  _want_  me to lose!"

" _Harry!_ "

Harry turned, scowling again. "You're hardly any better, Hermione! I would have thought I could count on you to know how important it is for me to learn all this stuff, but instead you're obsessed with forcing me to talk about my feelings and bringing up Sirius every five minutes as though that could possibly help instead of making everything worse!"

Rage was flooding him now, and even though part of Harry was aware that the Dark Arts he'd been learning in secret were likely what was having this effect on him, that practicing those things would bring the darker parts of himself to the forefront, he couldn't bring himself to care.

"I swear," he hissed, looking from one to the other of his two oldest friends. "Sometimes I could just  _Lacero_  the both of you!"

Malfoy gasped, and Harry closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose again as he realised what he'd just said.

" _Lacero_  , Harry? What spell is that?" Rather than being hurt and pulling away like Harry had wanted her to, Hermione was asking questions – questions Harry didn't want to answer. Oh, her voice certainly sounded hurt, but her need to know was apparently stronger.

_Why not be honest with them, just for a few minutes?_

Harry opened his eyes and glared at her. "Obscure curse, Hermione. I learned it from the Restricted Section within a fortnight of returning to Hogwarts, and I practiced it in the Shrieking Shack in the middle of the night. It's sort of like a ten second burst of Crutiatus."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. She glanced at the book hanging forgotten from his left hand, and whipped out her wand.

" _Detego!"_

The cover shimmered and  _When Facing the Dark: Surviving Encounters With Practitioners of the Dark Arts_  faded into  _Darkest Black and Deepest Night: A Compendium of Dark Arts_.

"Dark Arts, Harry?" she asked, looking horrified and shocked. "How  _could_  you?"

Ron's face went white. "You- you can't go Dark, Harry! You  _can't!_ " He looked ill.

Harry snorted.

"What, I'm supposed to kill Voldemort with an  _Expelliarmus_ , then?" He rolled his eyes. "Dark wizards don't fight like Light wizards do. The only ways a Light wizard can best a Dark one are to take the Dark wizard by surprise, to be far more powerful than the Dark wizard or outnumber him, or to take a page out of the Dark wizard's book and fight the same way. I'm willing to do whatever it takes to win. Including going Dark."

"You sound like a Slytherin!" Ron sounded like he was going to be sick. The irony of the situation struck Harry as amusing and he chuckled.

"I guess the Sorting Hat was right after all, then."

The other three looked at Harry in bewilderment, and he shrugged, not really caring what they would think of his next admission.  _It's not like I'm going to let any of them remember any of this, anyway._

"The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin. I was Slytherin enough to manipulate it into doing what I wanted instead."

Harry felt a moment's smug satisfaction at rendering all three of them speechless.

"I'm done being Gryffindor's Golden Boy. If I'm going to win this war, I'm going to have to use all my Slytherin cunning and 'use any means to achieve my ends.'" He made air quotes as he quoted the Sorting Hat's song from first year.

Hermione's jaw clenched. "I'm going to talk to Dumbledore, Harry. Someone needs to stop you before it's too late!"

Harry threw back his head and laughed; a bitter, jaded sound that stopped her in her tracks.

"Hermione," he gave her a crooked smile. "It's  _already_  too late."

She opened her mouth to respond, but he didn't give her a chance. " _Vorto Memoria Animus!_ " He flung the spell at her and without even waiting for it to hit its target, turned to cast the charm on Ron before the redhead could react. Harry whirled to cast it on Malfoy as well, but the blond raised a shield and the curse bounced off. He was white-faced as he stared at the Gryffindor. Ron and Hermione stood frozen where they'd been before he cursed them. Harry ignored them for the moment as he stared at Malfoy, wand out and ready to curse at a moment's notice.

"Potter," he whispered, his voice cracking. He wet his lips and cleared his throat. "You don't have to change my memory. I won't – I won't tell anyone. I want you to win, and Merlin knows that I'm not likely to judge anyone for practicing Dark Arts. And I'm certainly not going to hate you for thinking and acting like a Slytherin." He laughed nervously and shook his head. "I actually... I actually respect you more than I did before I learned all that. Granted, that's not saying much since I didn't really respect you before, but still. You actually just managed to earn a little bit of my respect."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Why the hell are you on my side in the first place, Malfoy? I would have thought you would be chomping at the bit to become a Death Eater and see me dead."

Malfoy shifted. "The Dark Lord's mad, Potter. I met him. He talked about Marking me, but by then I'd already seen enough to know I wanted no part of it. And Mother..." He paused, looking unsure of how to proceed. "Mother's opinion of Blood Politics has changed over the years. She knew better than to argue with Father or her family over it, but she's actually quite intelligent – she's practically a Ravenclaw, you know – and the research she did on it convinced her that there was no factual basis for the, the prejudices against Mud- Muggleborns."

He made a face. "She hasn't quite convinced me, but Merlin knows just because I don't think they're good enough for our world doesn't mean I actually want them  _dead_. And I certainly don't want to be the one doing the killing. But we can't stay neutral because of Father. At least your side won't make us kill anyone, will let me stay out of the fighting altogether, and won't  _Crucio_  us anytime you get pissed off at us." He cleared his throat. "Besides, the Dark Lord keeps trying to kill you but he never seems to be able to do it. You seem like a safer bet than he does, and we had to pick a winner."

He shrugged. "It isn't even as simple as wanting to do the right thing. It's self-preservation." He smirked. It was a little shaky, but still managed to be a smirk. "Slytherins."

Harry lowered his wand. "If you ever breathe a word to anyone, Malfoy, I swear I'll make you wish you'd stayed with Voldemort."

Malfoy bobbed his head in a jerky nodding motion. Satisfied, Harry turned to Hermione. He held his wand to her temple, moving it slowly in a counter clockwise motion, and spoke softly into her ear.

"After I told you that you were making everything worse by bringing up Sirius, I said that I was sick of both you and Ron. Your feelings were hurt and you decided to leave me alone to wait until I decide to come to you, as I always do. You decided to leave and get started on your homework for the break. After all, I'm being selfish and stubborn, and you're tired of being taken for granted and treated the way you are. Maybe being alone will be good for me. You'll ignore me until I get over myself."

He stepped up to Ron and repeated the process with his wand, this time intoning slightly different words.

"After I yelled at Hermione, I told you that I was sick of both of you, and it made you angry. You're sick and tired of trying to be my friend while I act like a selfish prat. You've decided to let me be that way, if that's what I want, and maybe when I realise what an awful prick I've been I'll come and apologise. In the meanwhile, you're going to ignore me until I realise that I had no right to take you for granted."

He moved back, quickly recast the glamour on his book, and waved his wand between his two friends. " _Summum Evasissent_."

They blinked, then both glared at him simultaneously.

"I can't believe you, Harry James Potter!" Hermione practically hissed at him. "If you want me to leave – fine! I'm leaving!" She whirled around and stormed off.

Ron scowled at him. "See if I try to act like your best mate anymore! When you're done being an arse, you know where I'll be." He stalked out of the room after her.

Harry nonchalantly headed back to his chair, seating himself and calmly flipping to find his place in his book.

"Why did you do that?"

He glared at Malfoy over the top of his book. "Because I couldn't let them leave knowing what they did."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I know that, idiot. But why that spell? Why make them distance yourself from them?" He sounded genuinely curious, and quite recovered from his uncharacteristic fear of Harry that he'd displayed earlier.

"Because an  _Obliviate_  can be detected, whereas that was an obscure Dark spell that would be difficult both to discover and to reverse. I need them to back off, and that spell lets me have some influence over their emotions as well as their memories."

"You know that spell only gives you the ability to suggest emotions to them, right? That they can easily throw off whatever you tell them to feel if they don't want to feel it?"

Now it was Harry's turn to roll his eyes. "I'm aware." Malfoy arched a brow at him. "They've both just about had it with me, anyway – the only reason they keep trying instead of waiting for me to get over myself on my own is that they know that my godfather died in the Department of Mysteries last term." He forced himself to keep his voice level, but some of the pain bled through anyway. He dropped his eyes back to the page, though he didn't really seem to see the words.

"I'm not going to watch anyone else die. Especially not because of me." His mouth twisted in a bitter smile. "I've had enough of that for one lifetime."

"What do you mean, watching people die because of you?"

For a moment he debated ignoring Malfoy, then decided the git would probably be more likely to keep his distance if he understood the fate of people who got too close to Harry.

"You know why I can't handle Dementors? Because every time they get close I hear my mother die. She died for me, begging for my life." He looked up at Malfoy to gauge his reaction. The Slytherin looked appropriately shocked. "Cedric Diggory – we reached the cup at the same time, and he told me to go ahead because I would have gotten there first if I hadn't stopped to save him. I was the one who suggested we take it at the same time. When Voldemort saw he had come along with me, he simply said, "Kill the spare," and Cedric was dead. Sirius..."

Harry swallowed, turning to stare into the distance. "I don't know if you've heard or not, but your mother's cousin, Sirius Black, was an innocent man. He was my godfather and I lo-loved him." Harry laughed, sharp and cold. "Voldemort sent me a vision, and like an idiot I believed him. I rushed off, right into his trap in the Department of Mysteries. We were fighting Death Eaters when the Order showed up to help. Bellatrix killed Sirius. He wouldn't have been there if it wasn't for me."

Harry shook his head, the bitterness tasting sharp and clear in his mouth. "I'm not interesting in watching anyone else die, especially not if it's my fault, and especially if it's someone I care about."

There was silence for a few moments.

"Potter..." Malfoy's voice was soft. "I'm only ever going to say this once, so listen up. I'm sorry you had such shit luck, and I'm sorry I made things worse when I didn't really know what was going on. But  _none_  of that was  _your fault._ "

Harry looked up at him, startled. Malfoy appeared to be a combination of uncomfortable and compassionate that looked horribly out of place on him. Harry couldn't help it – he began snickering.

"Potter!" An offended look crossed Malfoy's face.

"Sorry," gasped Harry. "But you look – Merlin, you look  _constipated!_  I guess it really  _is_  painful for you to be nice, isn't it?"

Malfoy wore a strange expression when he said that – if Harry didn't know better, he'd say Malfoy was  _hurt_. "Go to hell, you bastard!"

He stormed out, and Harry chuckled for a few moments more, before settling back in to read again. He'd set a monitoring spell to alert him when Snape arrived, since the Order was waiting on him to start the meeting. He also had monitoring spells in place that would record any conversations in the house where his name was mentioned, so that he could play them back later.

He figured that was the only way to be certain he wasn't kept out of anything that he needed to know about. In the meantime, he was reading through the Dark Arts books in the Black library – packing any that he could get away with reading if he was caught, and glamouring and storing the rest.

In a false bottom he'd created in his trunk to hide books he'd snuck out of the Restricted Section, he now had three tomes hidden away that, while clearly Dark, struck him as too important not to read.

He also thought of the handwritten journal he'd found in the farthest corner of the Restricted Section – one sealed against revealing its contents to anyone who could not speak parseltongue. A journal that was written by Salazar Slytherin. He had written about a single theoretical spell he'd created. The journal was simply labelled  _Exstinctor Vitum_.

* * *

Harry opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. After Healer Morgan had left, his thoughts swirled around various memories of the last year, of the choices he'd made and things he'd done.

He knew that there would be suspicions about whether he'd used Dark Arts against Voldemort or not, but that  _Prior Incantato_  on his wand wouldn't help them. The spell was unknown, and  _Prior Incantato_  wouldn't show them the incantation. All it would show would be the effects – which wouldn't match any descriptions of Dark Arts on record.

He could testify under Veritaserum that it was simply an untested spell known to no one else alive. He'd meant to burn the journal before heading into Knockturn, but he couldn't bear to think of destroying that incredible book. Since no one else would ever be able to read it, he couldn't justify going through with it.

Yes, people might wonder if he'd used Dark Arts, but only one would ever know for sure.

Draco Malfoy.

As it had many times since that day over Christmas holidays, the thought that he and Malfoy shared a secret no one else knew made something inside Harry glow warmly. Which made him uncomfortable.

Then again, thinking about Malfoy in any capacity made Harry uncomfortable.

His feelings about Malfoy were... complicated. He'd hated the other boy for so long, yet all the reasons he'd once had to do so were gone.

Malfoy's enmity towards Harry had doubtless started because he was a spoiled, proud child who had been insulted and had his offer of friendship – such as it was – thrown back in his face when Harry had insinuated that Malfoy himself was 'the wrong sort'. It had continued for the same reason, compounded by Harry's retaliations and any added insults to Malfoy's pride along the way, coupled with jealousy. Harry was smart enough to have figured that much out.

Ron had hated Malfoy right off just as much as Malfoy had hated him, and both boys had hated one another for their families' sakes. Both were equally culpable in their mutual animosity.

Malfoy's behaviour towards Hermione was a combination of jealousy over her intelligence and talent, and Blood Politics. And having read _Exstinctor Vitum_  so many times he had nearly memorized it, Harry understood more about Blood Politics than most of the pure-bloods who practiced them. Their prejudices had a logical base, but were woefully misguided.

Salazar Slytherin, for all that he was renowned for hating Muggle-borns, actually did nothing of the sort. He objected to bringing them to Hogwarts because of the risk of exposing the wizarding community to Muggles – but he fully advocated kidnapping Muggle-borns as soon as they were born and having them fostered within the wizarding community.

While he had left a basilisk in a school full of children, she had been intended to stay as a protector, and had been corrupted by years alone in the dark followed by meeting a descendant of her master who twisted her from her original purpose. Having read the man's journal, Harry was quite certain that Slytherin would have been deeply saddened and shamed by Tom Riddle.

He had researched the origins of magic itself, and wrote his findings in  _Exstinctor Vitum_. He had found a grimoire written by Merlin, which held the key to magic itself. Salazar's work in  _Exstinctor Vitum_  was drawn from Merlin's own discoveries. While he wrote the location of Merlin's grimoire in the journal, Harry had not had the opportunity to search for it.

The crux of things was that Muggles and wizards were different species – just as Veela and wizards were different species. Closely related enough to intermarry and reproduce, and closely related enough that simple genetic mutation could result in a Muggle-born, but still separate.

While Merlin had not thought any less of Muggles for it, Salazar had despised them. He saw their only usefulness as being the ability to provide a fresh crop of Muggle-borns. While he fully supported the notion of pure-bloods marrying Muggle-borns and half-bloods, the very idea of a witch or wizard marrying a Muggle was, in Salazar's opinion, an insult to magic itself. Muggle-borns he had valued only because half-bloods were either as powerful or more powerful magically than the average Muggle-born or pure-blood, but never weaker.

Conversely, Squibs were only ever born to pure-blood families – a reverse of the genetic mutation that led to Muggle-borns. Granted, a witch or wizard who married a Muggle could have a child who was a Squib, but that was because one parent was completely non-magical. It was only less prevalent than it would have otherwise been because the genetic component of magic was usually strong enough to overpower Muggle genes.

Centuries before DNA and genetics had been discovered by Muggles, Salazar, like Merlin before him, had mapped the wizard genome and compared it with that of Muggles. Harry itched to read more about magical genetics. He realised as he lay there that that would be the first thing he did once he was released from St. Mungo's – hunt down Merlin's grimoire and follow in Salazar's footsteps.

It wasn't just about understanding magical genetics. It was about understanding magic itself. While new spells and potions could be invented without that knowledge, it was a long, complicated process that involved a great deal of trial and error. According to Salazar, once you truly understood the nature of magic, you could quite literally do anything with it. That was the true secret of Merlin's power.

Salazar had intended to establish himself as the second Merlin, once he'd completed his research – but obviously he'd died before he was able to do so. Harry thought it ironic that the only wizard alive who could read his notes and follow in his footsteps was too ill to live long enough to see Slytherin's dream fulfilled. He resolved to discover as much about the nature of magic as he could and share as much knowledge of Slytherin's and Merlin's with the wizarding world as was safe. Too much, and there was the possibility of someone creating a spell similar to  _Exstinctor Vitum_.

He had performed enough of the spells and experiments in Salazar's journal to confirm the validity of everything he'd read. Salazar wrote of Merlin's findings and Harry felt a small fission of excitement as he thought of testing Merlin's writings the way he'd tested Slytherin's.

It would be too dangerous to share everything Merlin had discovered with the whole wizarding world, since that could potentially lead to someone uncovering the secret to  _Exstinctor Vitum_ , but Blood Politics and wizarding genetics were only a small component of that, and it would be safe enough to unveil those without risking the rest of it.

Harry smiled. At least he could do some good before he died, then, if he could end blood prejudice. Oh, he knew it wouldn't disappear overnight, but if he transcribed the information on wizarding genetics along with the relevant spells and experiments to prove everything, it would certainly cause an enormous shift in thinking in the wizarding world.

His mood lightened, Harry turned his thoughts to the visitors waiting to see him. He had pushed everyone away over the last year, both because he didn't want any distractions from preparing to face Voldemort, and because he felt it would hurt them less if he died if they weren't as close.

While he no longer needed to avoid distractions, he was still going to die. It wouldn't be fair to any of them to rebuild their relationships with him only to hurt them later. He wouldn't refuse to see any of them outright, not while he was still in the hospital, but he intended to alienate them as much as possible once he was released. Which, if he had his way, would be today.

Harry called for Healer Morgan. He would find out who was waiting to see him, and decide who he would speak to first.

* * *

"Hello, Harry."

Harry gave a tight smile to the man who had entered his room. The shabbily dressed man's careworn face lit up when he saw Harry awake, and when he spoke his voice was so filled with warmth and obvious relief that Harry's heart clenched.

"Hello Remus."

Remus crossed the room in quick strides and pulled Harry into his arms, hugging him tightly.

"Don't  _ever_  do anything that foolish again! I don't know what I'd do if I lost you, Harry!"

Harry's breath hitched. The bands around his heart squeezed impossibly tight and for a moment he didn't think that it was possible for him to breathe.

Remus was one person he'd been unable to distance himself from no matter how hard he tried. The werewolf latched on to Harry as the last remaining member of his pack and refused to let go. Nothing Harry said or did made a difference – Remus loved him absolutely and unconditionally, and in many ways Harry treasured Remus more than he had anyone else in his life.

Harry had been forced to accept that he couldn't make things easier on Remus by pushing him away, and would have to hurt him when he died. It broke his heart all over again to realise that this would still be the case.

Over the last year, when Remus was one of his private teachers, they had spent more one-on-one time together than Harry had ever spent with any other adult over the same time period. They'd been drawn together by their mutual grief, and the thought of how it would affect Remus when he lost Harry as well made Harry want to cry.

He simply clung to Remus and made the understatement of his life. "I'm sorry – I never wanted to hurt you." His voice was hoarse with unshed tears.

Remus buried his face in Harry's neck. "You're all I have left, Pup. You can't leave me, too."

Harry closed his eyes as guilt welled up inside him. "I'm sorry, Remus. I'm so, so sorry."

They cried together for a little while, but when Remus pulled back he was obviously relieved and happy, believing Harry was going to be fine. Harry didn't know how to break it to him that that wasn't the case.

He cast around for something he could say that wouldn't be lying.

"Remus, do you know how to recast a Fidelius Charm?"

Remus blinked, clearly not having anticipated the question. "I know the theory, but I'd have to look it up to know more. Why?"

Harry shrugged. "I want to recast the Fidelius on Grimmauld Place, and only allow a few people in. The Order doesn't need it anymore, and I have a right to privacy. I was hoping... I was hoping you'd be my Secret Keeper."

He bit his lip, looking at Remus anxiously.

Remus cleared his throat. "I'd be honoured, Harry. Though... wouldn't Dumbledore be a better choice?"

Harry scowled. "I don't want him in my house. In fact, if you won't give me your word not to tell him the Secret, I won't even use you for my Secret Keeper."

At the flabbergasted and confused look on Remus' face, Harry realised that Remus' reluctance to make that kind of promise was pretty much a given. After all, Dumbledore had done a great deal for him.

"It's alright, Remus," he sighed. "There's someone else I can use, anyway." He cast around for someone who he could ask, who wouldn't be willing to share the Secret with people who asked unless Harry said it was alright. A thought occurred to him and he snorted in amusement.

"Oh?"

"Malfoy." Remus looked shocked.

"Malfoy?"

Harry nodded. "I mean, I might have a hard time getting him to tell the people I want to have access to the house, but he certainly won't be pushed into sharing it by people who think they have a right to be there whether I want them there or not. I don't want many people there, anyway. He'll probably get a kick out of knowing that he has the power to deny people the right to visit me. Plus, he doesn't really like me so he won't be coming around all the time and bugging me. No one would suspect it's him. He's perfect."

Remus looked a little doubtful, but Harry hugged him again, hard, and Remus smiled.

"I trust your judgement, Harry."

Harry smiled. He found he liked the idea of having Malfoy for his Secret Keeper. While he had spent the last year trying to convince himself that the reason he was so obsessed with Malfoy was that the Slytherin was up to something, the reasons for suspecting such a thing grew more and more tenuous as time went by.

Harry refused to acknowledge why, then, he obsessed over Malfoy, if the little ferret wasn't up to anything. That line of questioning led to uncomfortable notions he'd much rather not entertain.

Especially since he was dying. There was no point in sorting out his feelings when he wouldn't be alive to continue having them for very long.

Harry suddenly felt very young and vulnerable.

"Will you take me home, Remus?"

Remus smiled. "Sure thing, Pup."


	3. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry leaves the hospital. He reflects on his training with Severus, and has a showdown with Dumbledore and the Order.

**Chapter Two:**  Confrontation

 **Disclaimer:** Nobody who hates Dumbledore as much as I do could possibly be mistaken for JKR.

 **A/N:** I've had a long hiatus due to life sucking as it does at times, but am now attempting to complete my fanfics. Sorry about the wait!

* * *

_It's the price I guess_  
_For the lies I've told_  
_That the truth, it no longer thrills me_

_Why can't we laugh_  
_When it's all we have_  
_Have we put these childish things away?_  
_Have we lost the magic we once had?_

_In the end, in the end_  
_It's time for us to lose our weary minds_

_In The End – Snow Patrol_

* * *

Harry waited impatiently. The mediwitch had assured him that Healer Morgan would be in soon to speak with him about being discharged. But he couldn't help fidgeting impatiently. He had never liked being in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts, and he found he liked being in St. Mungo's even less.

Remus was outside, sending the others who had been waiting for Harry away with promises that they could visit him at Grimmauld soon.

_Yeah. Right._

Harry had no intention of making nice with anyone. He wouldn't be around long enough to regret bruising their feelings; and it might make it easier on them when he died if they weren't so fond of him anymore.

The door opened and Healer Morgan stepped in. "The Mediwitch tells me you're asking to be released." The Healer's kind brown eyes regarded him with concern. Harry nodded.

"That's right."

Healer Morgan stared at him for a few long moments.

"There are a few things we'll need to check first, Harry, and you'll need to meet with the Mind Healer who'll be treating you from now on before I can discharge you."

Harry scowled. "I don't need a Mind Healer."

Healer Morgan gave him a sympathetic look. "I know you probably aren't very comfortable with the idea, but it's necessary. And you won't be discharged until you've spoken with her."

Harry glared.

"And before you go getting any ideas, you'll be required to sign a form agreeing to regular meetings with the Mind Healer before we release you. While our Healer's Oaths prevent us from discussing any of your medical issues with anyone else, if you fail to keep your appointments without a valid reason, the agreement gives us the authority to alert the Ministry. And while we may be bound to silence, they are not. So unless you're keen to have rumours spread about the fact that you're required to see a Mind Healer, you'll attend the appointments."

Harry opened and closed his mouth wordlessly, and his magic began to crackle and sizzle around him as his fury rose. The Healer swiftly conjured a shield. Harry blinked, startled, then noticed the magic swirling around him. He gasped.

"I- I still have magic?"

Healer Morgan looked baffled. "Why wouldn't you?"

"The spell I used..." Harry's voice trailed off. He shook his head.

Healer Morgan wisely didn't ask. "We need to test to make sure it's safe for you to use magic, Harry."

Harry's brow furrowed in confusion. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Your magical core is... unstable."

"Not surprising," Harry murmured, staring at the wall. "It has nothing to tether it anymore, after all."

Healer Morgan bit his lip, wishing he could ask the boy what he meant. But it was obvious that Harry had not been speaking to him, and he was certain that attempting to pry would only make him shut down more than he already had.

"Since you were exposed to the radiation, your magic has also become... somewhat radioactive." At Harry's alarmed expression he hastened to add, "Not enough to be a concern to you or to anyone around you – we just have to make sure that it stays that way when you actually use your magic. That it won't cause anyone around you to be exposed to radiation, even in small doses, that if you were to hit someone with a spell, it wouldn't hurt them, and that using your magic won't speed up the deterioration of your system."

Harry nodded, a slight twist of fear churning in his gut. Going too long without using any magic whatsoever would lead to bursts of accidental magic. The only exception to that was when a witch or wizard was imprisoned in Azkaban. No one knew why that was... except Harry.

He felt vaguely nauseated by the idea that the only way for him to avoid using magic altogether – intentionally or accidentally – was to have a daily těte-a-těte with a Dementor. If, in the end, it turned out that his magic might be harmful to others, he knew a safe place he could go. It wasn't like he wasn't planning on going there anyway.

At least the fact that he still had magic would make getting there more feasible.

Healer Morgan handed Harry his wand. Then he asked him to step over to the far side of the room, erected a shield between them, and instructed Harry to start casting at the wall.

Harry closed his eyes, and began casting – Leglocker Jinx,  _Incarcerous, Expelliarmus_. He let his mind drift back to his training, and began throwing out more and more dangerous curses, faster and faster, running, rolling, dodging from an invisible opponent.

* * *

_Sweat rolled down his forehead, trickling along his nose before beading on the edge of his upper lip, where it swung precariously with his movements, until a particularly sharp drop and roll sent it flying. Sweat was coming in rivulets now, as he moved more and more quickly, constantly in motion, not stilling even for a fraction of a second. And with every single move he made, he cast. Curses, hexes, shields, and counter-spells._

_His breath came quick and sharp and short, his pulse thundering in his veins and roaring in his ears and his eyes, despite their dependence on a pair of glasses, were somehow eagle-sharp and able to spot the slightest motion of his opponent's, able to move in perfect counterpoint to defend and to attack. To win._

_Harry jumped out of a roll, springing to his feet, where he stopped. Staring at the far wall, waiting, wand out, eyes and ears straining, every muscle tensed to move again. The black-cloaked figure across from him didn't move._

_Slowly, he let out a shaky breath, and stepped forward. Slowly, cautiously, wand unwavering pointed at the limp body lying haphazardly on the ground. Eyes narrowed; watching for a deception, a trick._

_Finally he stood over his opponent, staring at the slack features of the man he'd beaten. He kneeled and held his wand to the other's temple._

_"_ Enervate _," he whispered._

_The figure groaned, dark lashes fluttering. Black eyes snapped open and narrowed when they observed his presence, a sneer curving waxy lips._

_"_ _Do you need Madam Pomfrey, sir?" Harry didn't flinch under the murderous glare; his voice remaining level and cool._

_For a moment they stayed as they were, eyes locked, mutual hatred and enmity sparking in their eyes. A flicker of something passed through the eyes of the one lying on the ground, and the hatred was – not replaced; but dulled, and joined by – something that closely resembled grudging respect._

_"_ _Potter," he bit out through gritted teeth. "I'll thank you not to annoy me with useless prattle."_

 _"_ _I'll call her then, sir." He started to rise, but his arm was seized._

 _"_ _Potter..."_

_He tilted his head. "Sir?"_

_"_ _I'll tell the Headmaster you are more than ready to begin training against multiple opponents."_

_Harry nodded. "I'm certain he will be pleased, sir."_

_The dark haired figure on the ground scowled at his lack of response, but Harry simply rose and sent a Patronus to Madam Pomfrey. He didn't mention how difficult it was to cast a Patronus these days. He didn't think it was anyone else's business but his own. He stared after the stag as it galloped away, ignoring the tiny flicker of fear inside that said he might one day lose the ability to cast his Patronus altogether._

_"_ _Potter."_

_He tore his eyes away from the wall where his stag disappeared, and glanced back down at the floor._

_"_ _You are not... entirely useless." There was something in that dark gaze; eyes glazed over in pain, yes, but behind that, again he thought he saw that fission of respect, or reluctant admiration._

 _"_ _Sir?" His brows drew together in confusion._

 _"_ _I am beginning to believe," his companion said slowly, eyes fluttering shut against the pain. "That your death at the hands of the Dark Lord may not be as absolutely certain as I had previously assumed."_

_Despite the fog of apathy that surrounded him, Harry felt a tiny smile appearing on his face. Light warmth ran through him, as he realised he was receiving approval from a man he had no idea he sought it from – but from whom, he realised suddenly, it somehow meant more than any and all accolades he had ever received from any other source. He swallowed heavily._

_"_ _Thank you, Professor Snape."_

_The Potions Master attempted to rise, then fell back; resting his head on the ground, he closed his eyes, panting. Harry knelt beside him and conjured a small cushion, slipping it underneath his teacher's head. Snape opened his eyes, staring straight into Harry's._

_"_ _You have your mother's eyes," he murmured, reaching out and touching Harry's face. "Lily's eyes."_

 _"_ _Sir?" Harry blinked, thrown. "You... you knew my mother?"_

 _"_ _She was my best friend." Snape's eyes became slightly unfocused as he spoke, his words slow and tired. The sorrow in his face made something inside Harry ache. "She was my sister in all but blood."_

_Harry's eyes widened, and he held back a gasp. If Snape had been so close to his mother, why hadn't he heard of it before? Why had Snape joined the Death Eaters, and why had he told Voldemort the prophecy that got Harry's parents killed? Why did he hate Harry so violently? How could his hatred of Harry's father outstrip his affection for Harry's mother to the degree that all he ever saw in Harry was James Potter?_

_"_ _What... what happened?"_

 _"_ _I..." Snape faltered. "I was... going through..." He paused, staring vacantly for so long that Harry thought he wouldn't continue for a moment. "I was going through something... extremely difficult._ James Potter _," he sneered the first name, and his eyes narrowed to slits as he spat the second, "and_ Sirius Black _were tormenting me – as usual – and I was feeling particularly vulnerable emotionally at the time. Lily intervened; and while she stopped them, I was humiliated at having to be saved by a girl in front of my housemates and lashed out at her. Stupidly; cruelly."_

_The misery written all over his face spoke volumes. "I called her a Mudblood... and no matter how I apologized afterwards, she wouldn't listen; wouldn't forgive me. I was too proud to keep begging the way I had been, and gave up. I wanted to try again after some time had passed and I realised how empty my life was without her, but she began dating Potter." He closed his eyes, the pained bitterness in them nearly a tangible thing._

_"_ _I became so bitter and angry; I convinced myself that I hated her. It wasn't until I learned that the Dark Lord planned to go after the Potters; killing them and any of their friends who stood in his way that I was hit by the inexorable truth that my love had not diminished with the years. Potter and Black I still hated; I would not have mourned or regretted their deaths in any capacity. But the thought of losing Lily or Remus was anathema to me. I would have died to protect them." The pain in his voice was so raw that Harry felt it like a curse gutting his insides._

_Snape continued, his voice faint, speech slurred and his head nodded slowly to one side. His words were sliding out in a rambling tone, seemingly without awareness that he was speaking._

_"_ _I went to Dumbledore and begged him to protect them. Promised him anything if he would keep them safe; swore to do or give anything he asked. I offered my services as a spy; swearing my life was worth nothing as long as they could be saved. My sweet, sweet, precious sister," he whispered, his voice choked with tears. "My guiding angel from the time I was a boy; and the man I..." He choked, and drew in a ragged breath through slightly parted lips. Harry noticed they were trembling. "The one I... the_ only _one I ever..." His voice broke, and his mouth opened slightly and shut again a couple of times before he clenched his jaw and swallowed hard._

 _His eyelids fluttered open, and he turned his dull, glazed eyes back to Harry. "Love," he said, enunciating each word carefully, "is_ **pain** _, Mr. Potter." His face twisted, and he closed his eyes. But Harry had seen the despair in them, and he felt something inside him shift as he looked at the broken man before him._

_Snape's words came more softly, slipping out haltingly as he lost hold of consciousness, his head lolling to the side again. "I... was so... hesitant... to... love... or trust... anyone... by the time I... left... Hogwarts." His voice was a mere whisper, but Harry was utterly silent, straining to hear, not wanting to miss a word._

_"_ _Narcissa... was a friend. We became... close. She... made me... godfather... to her son. I... grew to... love them... both. But I... stayed... closed off. Held them... at arm's length. And... after... Lily..." His voice cracked and he made a small wounded sound. Harry hesitantly reached out and laid his right hand over Snape's."I saw... her eyes... The light... was... gone..." A shudder passed through him. "The... sparkle... the... laughter... the... warmth..." He let out a small whimper. "I... held her. She... was so cold."A shudder ran through him, and Harry felt slightly sick at the implication that Snape had clutched his mother's body after that Halloween attack._

 _"_ _I... swore..." Snape's voice was so faint Harry had to bend down with his ear practically laid over Snape's mouth to hear as he breathed out the words. "Never... again. I would... never... love... anyone... again." His breathing was shallow and soft. "I've... loved... four... people... in my life. Lily... Remus... Narcissa... Draco." He swallowed again, this time less painfully. "I lost... two... of them. One of them... is dead... and it's on my own... head. My... only... family..." He lay quietly for a moment, breathing as if in sleep. Harry wondered if he had been sleep-talking._

 _"_ _I... will... protect... the ones... that are left. I swore... to protect them... and... to protect... Lily's child... for her sake... and... to pay... a life debt... to Potter. Three... that I... love... and one... that... reminds me... every day... of my mistake... but whom... I... will defend... to the end. I... fight... for them. Everything... for their sakes."_

_His voice trailed off and he made no further sounds, save for his soft breathing as he slept. Harry slowly straightened up, his mind whirling with what he'd learned._

_He was confused. Understandably so. He struggled to make sense of what he'd learned, but found himself filled with more questions the more he thought about it._

_Absently, he checked Snape's pulse. He knew the Potions Master was merely unconscious, but it was a good idea to make sure his pulse was still strong. It was; which was a bit of a relief. Snape had been confused and disoriented enough to spill his secrets, which had made Harry slightly concerned for the amount of damage he'd sustained. Harry hadn't meant to go_ quite _so hard on him._

_He was very well aware of the fact that Snape would never have said anything to him without the head injury clouding his judgement. He was also fairly certain that his professor would make him pay – in spades – for the indignity of having seen him so vulnerable and learned his secrets; once he was recovered sufficiently to do some damage, that was._

_He wondered about Snape's relationship with Remus; by all accounts, they hated one another with a passion, and had since their school days. Yet he had spoken of Remus as if..._

_Harry shook his head. He was being ridiculous._

_A hand fell on his shoulder, and he jumped at the contact. He glanced behind himself, and saw Remus standing there._

_For a moment he was tempted to pry; to ask for answers to the questions raised by the Potions Master's clearly overheard lapse in discretion, but the look of anguished confusion in Remus' eyes held him back. There was something so private about the storm of emotions he saw swirling in the werewolf's eyes – something vulnerable that made him feel almost embarrassed and guilty about having noticed it. Considering his intentions of distancing himself from everyone, that would be a decided step backwards._

_But as he alternating watching the Mediwitch cast healing spells on Snape with observing Remus' rapt attention to the black-clad man, it didn't stop him from wondering._

* * *

"We're here, Harry," Remus said softly, and Harry tried not to show how startled he felt at being jerked so suddenly out of his thoughts by the unpleasant sensation of Apparition. After a year of being trained by Severus Snape in person and Salazar Slytherin in spirit, it was easier to appear unaffected than it once might have been.

He suspected, however, that Remus could still tell. Whether it was because his werewolf senses told him, or because he simply knew Harry that well, Harry wasn't certain. It might have even had something to do with his as-yet-unexplained relationship with Snape. Harry gave the older man a wan smile.

"S'alright, Remus." He flashed a reassuring smile at his friend, and got a slightly guilty look in return. "Remus?"

Remus cleared his throat and glanced away. "I told everyone that you wanted some space, some time; but I don't know how well they listened. There might be some people there," he explained, looking slightly awkward. "I couldn't keep them out, since we haven't recast the Fidelius yet."

Harry closed his eyes and sighed, trying not to let his frustration bleed through. He didn't know if he could deal with this, right now. His core was unstable; prone to bouts of accidental dark magic; particularly if he got upset. The coping technique he'd worked out with the Healers wasn't really something Harry wanted to show off to all and sundry, but he might have to depending on how things went with the ones inside the house.

"The Malfoys wanted to give you the privacy you asked for, but the wards around the Manor were compromised at the beginning of the summer and they had to move in. The wards are being repaired now that almost all of the Death Eaters are gone, but it's not safe for them to leave yet. I just thought I'd let you know ahead of time that they feel bad about not being able to honour your wishes."

Harry nodded, feeling a vague sense of appreciation that they had at least wanted to do as he'd asked.

Remus wrapped his arm around Harry's shoulders, and Harry couldn't help leaning into him a bit, aching for the familiar comfort. His emotions felt numb and hollowed out, and it seemed like only the negative ones bled through. The hint of warmth he felt in Remus' embrace made him hungry for more, even if it could only ever be a shadow of what he might have once felt.

They moved slowly up the walkway to the front door of Number 12, Grimmauld Place. He sent up a silent plea to the gods for the Order to have shown him some basic human courtesy for once and backed off, knowing full well that it was hopeless.

As they entered the house, Harry tried not to feel overwhelmed with grief at the loss of Sirius.  _I avenged him,_  he reminded himself silently.  _That bitch is dead, and so is her Master._

"Potter."

He paused in the hallway at the sound of that deep, smooth voice that always made him think of melted dark chocolate. He stood with his head cocked slightly to one side, examining his teacher. He met the man's glittering black eyes without fear and gave a sharp, decisive nod. "Professor."

There was a moment's awkward pause while Snape gave him an assessing look. "How are you?"

Harry felt slightly surprised, but a smile quirked his mouth none the less. "Tired."

He thought he saw the faintest glimmer of an answering smirk in the other man's expression. "Of course. Please, don't continue to stay awake on  _my_  account. I'm only curious as to how you did it, and why it was that I never felt the call."

Harry dipped his head in acknowledgement. "We'll talk later," he promised, and saw the satisfaction settle into the other man's face as he stepped out of the way and motioned Harry forward.

He grinned inwardly as he wondered if the man would be quite so pleased if he knew Harry intended it to be more of a bargaining session for information about Snape's relationships with Remus and Lily in exchange for the information he wanted.

He shrugged off Remus' arm and moved for the stairs, but was stopped short by a cheerful, deceptively benevolent voice.

"Ah, Harry, my boy; I was wondering if I might have a word?"

Anger and hatred flooded him so quickly it was all he could do not to explode right at that moment. The bitterness he felt was so poignant that he felt like he was going to be sick. He turned slowly to meet those twinkling blue eyes.

"Dumbledore." His voice was flat, and his eyes glittered with so much malice that the Headmaster stepped back, eyes wide. He was standing in the sitting room; not quite in the center, but close, standing a little further away from Harry, allowing him a full view of all assembled.

He recovered himself quickly, the twinkle returning to his eyes as he gave Harry a beaming smile. "My dear boy, you did it! You've defeated Tom, and won the war for us single-handedly!" A look of false sympathy crossed his face. "I understand that things must be very difficult for you, but surely you can understand why your friends and family wish to be here to congratulate you!"

Harry's gaze flitted over the sitting room, realising to his fury that the entire Order seemed to be present, as well as Hermione and the entire Weasley family. Even the Malfoys were present, standing at the back, just beyond the doorway on the other side of the room.

He examined the expressions of the room's occupants with a sense of cool detachment, knowing his face was as blank a mask as the Malfoys had ever managed. The thought flitted through his mind that dabbling in the Dark Arts apparently helped one build such a mask.

His new emotional coldness allowed him to view the people assembled there without any filtering through a lens of emotional bias. There was no affection to blind him, no nervousness or apprehension about their perceptions of him to hinder him, and no guilt to shame him; and without any emotional distractions he was able to see things that he never would have noticed otherwise. Even his anger, fierce as it had been a moment before, was easily swept aside; forgotten for the moment.

This was a new skill, he observed idly; another thought that flitted through his mind before dissipating. While his studies in the Dark Arts – Occlumency in particular – had helped make him colder, more perceptive, and less transparent, they had also increased his connection to his darker emotions. No one could ever achieve such a perfect degree of detachment when there was always at least a hint of anger simmering below the surface of their consciousness.

He strode forward, his expression betraying nothing. Dumbledore's twinkle diminished slightly as he realised that Harry didn't appear thrilled to see everyone there to meet him. Harry stopped a few feet away from the Headmaster.

"Funny," he commented lightly, voice flat. "I don't seem to recall inviting anyone to make themselves at home in  _my_  house."

Dumbledore smiled condescendingly. "But surely you wanted to see your friends again, Harry; if only to reassure them after they were so worried about you."

Harry tilted his head slightly as he met Dumbledore's gaze. "Actually, I expressly stated that I didn't want to see  _anyone_  yet."

He looked around the room, coolly meeting the eyes of everyone present, feeling a vague ripple of satisfaction as they all averted their eyes and flushed.

"But Harry," began Hermione, but she was cut off by Harry.

"Harry, dear; surely you don't mean that!" she cried, and Harry narrowed his eyes slightly.

"I assure you, I don't make a habit of saying things I don't mean."

He turned back to Dumbledore and arched an eyebrow. "I can see I ought to reset the  _Fidelius_  sooner than I had anticipated."

A low murmur ran through the room at that, and he had a sudden thought that gave him a hint of amusement. He decided to go with it, just to see the reactions of those assembled.

"Hey, Malfoy," he called.

Draco started, his eyes darting from side to side before he licked his lips and replied. "Potter," he said warily.

"How'd you like to be my Secret Keeper?"

Draco's eyes widened, then he smirked. "Why not?" he drawled. He couldn't help enjoying the scandalized looks and gasps of outrage that rose up with Harry's words. Allies they might have been, but Gryffindor baiting was still such  _fun_. He was a little mystified as to why Potter was willing to oblige him so by providing such a perfect opportunity, but he certainly appreciated it.

"Harry," came Dumbledore's voice, his eyes hardening slightly. "You need to be careful. You wouldn't want anyone to wonder whether you might be going dark, now, would you?"

The glass in the room began rattling ominously, and Harry's eyes narrowed into slits as he moved towards Dumbledore. "Dark?" he whispered, and the sheer venom in his voice unnerved the listeners. " _You_  call  _me_  dark?"

His lip curled in disgust. " _You_ , who left a 15 month old baby on a doorstep like a milk bottle in the middle of the night – in November!? Who never bothered to ask if the Muggles were willing to take him in or even check on his welfare afterwards? Who ignored that his relatives called witches and wizards 'freaks', that they had lied to him about his parents; his heritage? Who ignored the bars on his window, and his pleas when he begged not to be forced to return to his relatives? Who ignored him at every turn, fed him lies, forced him to fight  _your_  war for you? Why, Headmaster," his voice became saccharine. "Whatever would possibly give you the idea that I might have  _any_  reason to go Dark?"

"Harry," Dumbledore began, a hint of steel entering his eyes. "There's no need for exaggerations-"

"Oh, I'm exaggerating?" Harry's eyes widened in mock surprise. "So you  _didn't_  have wards on the house to monitor my condition when I was little? You  _never_  knew about how Dudley pushed me down the stairs when I was five, and after my arm broke my uncle threw me into the cupboard for two days as punishment for crying? About all the times I went without food because my aunt and uncle didn't want to have to feed a freak?"

His eyes narrowed again and he hissed, "I know the truth, Dumbledore. I know that you monitored  _everything_ ; that you knew  _everything_. I know that it was all part of your plan to make me nice and malleable to make me your weapon; to turn me into a child soldier!"

He laughed humourlessly. "If I didn't want to get beaten to a pulp, I had to run fast. Now I'm faster than anyone else I know. I had to learn how to hide, how to be absolutely silent. How to manage without food and water. How to keep going; to keep working when I'm exhausted, cold, and hungry. How to avoid panicking when I'm locked in a small, dark place for days. When I got to Hogwarts, I was so happy and grateful to have been saved that I never questioned why no one seemed to know. Why no one had ever checked on me. What the fact that my Hogwarts letter was addressed to 'The Cupboard Under The Stairs' might mean. But you knew everything, all along!"

His voice trembled. "You left me there  _on purpose_. From the day you left me there I was neglected, locked up, starved, and beaten – and  _you_  let it all happen to me. All 'For the Greater Good'. Telling yourself that it would teach me the survival skills that might help me defeat Voldemort. What if I'd been raped, too – would you have let them do  _that_  to me, too? Told yourself that it might save my life one day to know how to suck a little Death Eater cock?"

He laughed again, choking on it like a sob. He could feel tears pooling in the corners of his eyes, feel his magic burning underneath his skin like lava. "You made sure that I was prejudiced against Slytherins before I ever came to Hogwarts, to make sure that I would stay out of the only House that would have nurtured my self-preservation instinct; the self-preservation instinct that all abused children have, and that you were determined to squash out of me. You ensured that my childhood would convince me I was worthless, so that when the time came I would be a good little hero and die with Voldemort!" His voice rose to a shout, and all the glass in the room exploded. His magic swirled around him in a small whirlwind, sparks of what appeared to be blue lightning fizzing and leaping out from his aura.

"Leave." His voice was hoarse, and he seemed to notice for the first time since he'd begun shouting at the Headmaster that he and Dumbledore were not alone. "Leave right now, old man; before I lose control of my magic and someone gets hurt."

Dumbledore opened his mouth to object, and Harry's magic flared up in a visible roar as he took one step forward. Fear lit the old wizard's eyes for a moment, and he Disapparated with a nearly silent pop. Harry closed his eyes and drew in a shuddering breath, but it was too late for him to draw back his aura. The whirling, sparking magic around him was seething; a pot on the verge of boiling over.

" _Intracingo!_ " he gasped out, falling to his knees. A shimmering ripple slid over his skin, and he could feel himself shaking from the effort of holding back. " _Totum Contineo Sphaera!_ " A second shimmer burst out from his skin, rapidly expanding and encompassing him in a large opaque bubble. His eyes fluttered shut, and somehow, he knew just what he needed.

" _Fiendfyre!_ " He could barely wheeze out the incantation, and the magic poured out of his fingertips with a scream. He heard the distant shrieks of the others, but dismissed them as unimportant as the cursed fire rolled and prowled and moved around his body. Enclosed within the container he created, it could't harm anyone but him. And his body was encased in a perfect shield; one that would hold back anything. He laid his forehead on the floor in relief as his magic purred and began to settle. He was trembling – he knew he was trembling; he could feel it – but it didn't matter. All he needed to do was wait for a few moments in the heart of the firestorm he created while his magic burned off his uncontrolled anger, and ride it out.

Part of him was glad for the anger – welcomed it, because at least he could feel something while he was that angry – and part of him was bitter that negative emotions came so easily while positive ones left him so cold. Most of him was indifferent, calming and relaxing in the midst of the Dark Magic he'd called up. After a few moments, he judged his magic back under his control and cancelled the spells.

 _"Quam aptus,"_  he murmured, not really registering that he was speaking in latin. _"Quod perfectio imago animae meae."_

He opened his eyes, and he could see the various Order members all pressed against the walls, staring at him in shock. He sat up slowly, feeling calm and in control once again. While vaguely aware that he was naked, he felt no shame or discomfort with being seen thus.

"What was that?" Hermione whispered.

"Fiendfyre," he answered. "Cursed fire; Dark Magic. Beautiful, isn't it? Terrible, yes; but beautiful. It's an accurate parallel of what Dark Magic truly is, actually. All Dark Magic, like Fiendfyre, is powerful and has its uses. But if it isn't absolutely, perfectly controlled it will consume everything around it – including its caster. The witch or wizard using it has to know exactly what he or she is doing, or all is lost. It's dark, beautiful, and terrible all at once."

"So, is that how you did it?" Tonks' voice was shaking, fearful. He cocked his head to one side and gave her a quizzical look. "You killed Voldemort with Dark Magic?"

Harry snorted, mildly amused. "Oh, that? No," he shook his head. "I didn't kill Voldemort with  _Dark_  Magic." He shot her a pleasant smile. "I killed him with  _Black_  Magic; which is much,  _much_  worse."

Then, because he knew there were more questions coming and he really didn't feel like answering any of them just then, he Disapparated without bothering to get up off the floor.

* * *

Harry stretched as he rose, absently shooting a silencing and locking charm at the door to Regulus' bedroom. While the Dark Magic made his wonky core feel somewhat refreshed, it had only served to heighten his physical and mental tiredness. He stumbled towards the bed and collapsed into it, breathing deeply as his eyes fluttered shut.

" _Ut exstinguat vitam, anima mea ego discutio,"_  he murmured.  _"Sic fiat."_

* * *

**A/N:**  Latin translations:

 _Intracingo_  – protect within

 _Totum Contineo Sphaera_  – all-containing sphere

 _Quam aptus_ \- "How fitting."

 _Quod perfectio imago animae meae_. – "A perfect reflection of my soul."

 _Ut exstinguat vitam, anima mea ego discutio._  – To extinguish (quench, annihilate, destroy) life, my own soul I shatter (smash to pieces, shake violently, dissipate, disperse, break up, scatter


End file.
